Flying (Into Your Arms)
by brookelets
Summary: Clarke is sent to earth before the rest of the delinquents in an old escape pod. After landing on Earth she must fight to survive, and fight against the growing attraction she feels towards a certain brunette.
1. Fall to Earth

It was dark within the cell. The cold metal walls closed in on the small bed in the corner. It was made of metal too, with only a small mattress placed on top. There was a sleeping form covered by a thin blanket resting on the thin cushion. She had blonde hair, which was carefully braided, and pale, milky skin that had never before seen the sun. The girl shivered, her skin covered in a light coat of gleaming sweat. Her brow furrowed, and she tossed about, her hands wildly grabbing for invisible things within the solitary room.

She was broken out of her restless sleep by the banging of a door and loud footsteps. She felt strong hands grab her shoulders and rip her out of bed. She struggled against their grasp, but it was futile. She blinked her eyes open blearily, taking in the hazy image of tanned skin and curly, brown hair. She felt as if she recognized the face, but her mind was too sleep-addled to make much out of what her eyes were seeing.

"Careful!" A voice barked quietly in the darkness of the room. She knew that voice. She turned towards where it had come from, near the open door, and there was a face she knew without a doubt.

"Mom," she choked out, her own voice confused and desperate. Her mothers's face was creased with worry, causing her to look far more aged than Clarke had last seen her. Her mother's hands cupped her face, and grey eyes met blue.

"Yes. Come, Clarke, we have to leave. Now. Quietly." She grabbed Clarke's hand and pulled her hard towards the door, causing the blonde girl to stumble, her body still in the process of waking. She felt the guard's hand return to her shoulder, pulling her up with a harsh tug. She glared at him, but he only shrugged in response, as if he was accustomed to far worse.

She regained her composure and followed her mother out of the door. She was curious and scared, but something within her told her to stay quiet. She followed her mother through the twists and turns of the Ark, through stations and corridors she had never visited before. It was unlit for the most part, save for the occasional flickering electric light on the ceiling of each hallway.

She followed her mother through the maze of metal with the mysterious guard behind her. She felt all tiredness purged from her body, and real fear started to seep in as replacement. Eventually her mother stopped at a door, pausing to look both directions with a strange glint in her eye before pulling a key from her pocket and inserting it into the lock.

There was a clicking sound and the door swung open. Her mother turned and beckoned them in with frantic hand motions, closing the door immediately after the guard had entered. The room was lit brightly, causing Clarke to cover her unadjusted eyes with the back of her hand. Eventually her pupils shrank and she removed her hand to find herself looking at a large metal pod.

Her mother bustled around, talking with a Hispanic looking girl who was covered in old grease stains. They both turned to look at her; her mother wearing a concerned yet loving expression, while the other girl sported a worried yet determined one. She blushed at being caught staring, but her curiosity had risen at overhearing the hushed tones of their conversation. Her mother took a step towards her, her hands reaching out for Clarke.

"Clarke, honey, you're being sent to the ground." It was a bombshell and Clarke felt its echoes throughout the very structure of her bones. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. "It's no longer safe for you here. This is the only chance we have." Clarke took a step back, evading her mother's cloying grip. Her eyes had widened and her heart thumped franticly against the confines of her chest. The air had been stolen from her lungs, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

To Clarke this was as good as a death sentence. "Murderer," she spat at her mother, seeing an equally shocked and saddened face reflected back at her. She saw her mother look over her head, giving a small nod to the guard behind her. Before Clarke had any time to react, she felt the sharp prick of a needle enter her neck, and unconsciousness flitted on the horizon of her mind, drawing steadily closer.

Her body felt light, and without the ability to hold herself in a standing position, she keeled into the waiting arms of the mysterious guard. She blinked her eyes slowly trying to hold the impending darkness at bay. However, she was unsuccessful, and the last thing she remembered before falling into a dreamless sleep was the touch of her mother's fingers smoothing away the flyaway blonde strands of hair from her face, and whispering, "You're our last hope, Clarke. Don't fail us."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

She awoke to a loud rattling sound surrounding her. Her eyes flew open and she found herself gazing through foggy windows at the stunning view of Earth, which was steadily coming closer. She reached her arms out, feeling constricted by the large metal contraption that held her. The metal was hot under her fingertips, and she yanked her hands away, burying them in the safety of her lap. She tried to lean forward, but was pulled back into place by a complicated looking safety belt that held her securely against the cushioned metal of the seat.

There was a startling bang that shook the pod, and it started to shudder uncontrollably, making Clarke press sharply against the red protective gear that kept her strapped in. She saw flames lick up the windows and felt a panicky fear fill her, causing her to scream and fight against the restraints holding her immobile. Tears filled her eyes, and sharp jolts of pain shot up her legs as she kicked against the front of the pod.

She reached a trembling hand into her pocket and felt the familiar cool metal of her iPod. She dug it out of her pocket with some difficulty and shoved the attached ear buds into her ears, pressing play as soon as she could with her shaking hands and cramping fingers. Music started to pour into her ears. It was harsh and loud, but it eliminated some of the sounds coming from the pod as it made its first entry through the Earth's atmosphere.

She was thankful that her mother had done that, knowing how claustrophobic Clarke could become. Any type of art relaxed Clarke. It was something she had inherited both genetically and through practice with her father. It was soothing to them, giving both a way to clear their minds. She saw her father in her minds eye, picturing his sandy hair and hole-filled sweater. She wanted to reach out and feel the dimples on his face, and to trace the familiar wrinkles on his brow. She smiled sadly at the image in her minds' eye. It was the last thing she saw before feeling a huge jerk from the pod and an unimaginable pain that coursed like fire throughout every fiber of her being.


	2. Healing and Breaking

She came into a state of groggy consciousness. Her head pounded and she felt pain coursing thickly through her veins like fire. She tried to wiggle her fingers and toes, but cried out as it felt like white-hot daggers were being repeatedly stabbed into her right calf and arm. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, which were beginning to roll around frantically within their sockets. She didn't recognize her surroundings, which were made up of stone and dirt, not the familiar cold metal of the escape pod or Ark.

She tried to recall what had happened, but all she could remember was a flash of fire, blinding pain, and a gentle swaying under a blanket of green. She wanted to know where she was, but her body refused to move and with a tired sigh, she fell back into a troubled sleep.

She saw her father's death in her mind's eye, heard his screams and the whoosh of air pulling him into the vastness of space. She beat her fists against the thick glass doors and screamed, pouring her anguish and anger into it She felt arms encircle her shoulders in what would have been a comforting gesture, but when she turned around, she saw her mother smiling as she pushed Clarke out the opening doors and into black darkness of space after her father.

Clarke howled as she felt the air sucked from her lungs, and she swung her limbs desperately, trying to regain some semblance of control as she fell through space. She saw the ground approaching, and it was almost beautiful. The blues and greens were ethereal and the swirling clouds added a certain mystique. She wanted to paint it, to swirl a paintbrush over a blank canvas, but as she reached towards the earth, she felt something pulling her back into the darkness.

She felt a strange sadness at seeing it disappear as her body fell backwards uncontrollably. She woke up covered in sweat, her body burning up. She looked down and saw that she was covered in what looked like animal furs. She raised her left arm, which was the least painful part of her body at the moment, and ran her fingers through the softness of the topmost fur.

It was brown and very thick, and Clarke wondered what animal had yielded such a pelt. She had read many books with animals from the Old World, but her brain was in no condition to figure out which this was. She turned her head away from the furs and towards her right arm, which lay on top of the brown fur. It was twisted at an awkward angle, and Clarke could see the crooked parts of broken bones poking upwards through her skin. It made her stomach churn, and she felt bile rise up in her throat.

She had seen far worse injuries than this before, but there was something strangely more disturbing seeing it on herself. She swallowed back the bile that had risen up within her, trying desperately to refrain from vomiting on the floor of the cave. She attempted to sit up, using her abdominal muscles to help pull herself up along with the limited help of her left arm.

When she finally reached a half sitting position, she used her left arm to peel back the large brown fur, revealing both of her legs. The bile she had fought to keep down rose back up her throat and with a haste she didn't know she possessed, she leaned over the raised bedframe and vomited. Her body trembled and she felt the sweat cooling against her heated skin. It felt nice, Clarke thought vaguely.

She looked back down at her leg, the faint pleasure she had obtained from decreasing her body temperature lost as she looked down at it. Her hip had been dislocated, causing her right leg to be awkwardly twisted. Letting her gaze roam downwards, she noticed that her shin bone had been snapped, leaving the two pieces drifting in opposite directions, stretching her pale skin.

She was surprised not to see angry red streaks marring her skin, which she knew accompanied infection. Not that her skin wasn't covered in other markings of red. Fresh and dried blood painted itself across her body, surrounding a good deal of small and large cuts that stretched up her legs. She did a quick check and ascertained that only a few of them were in need of stitching. She could feel the cuts that were on her face, and felt the crackling of dried blood as the opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

She needed medical attention; that much she knew, but how she would find it here was a mystery to her. She did not know where she was, who had brought her here, or how to survive on her own, all of which lead her to the conclusion that without help, she would die within the next few days from her wounds and from dehydration.

She let out an anguished sob, the tears streaming down her face, as she collapsed back into soft bundle of furs. She let the tears come, doing nothing to stop their fall, until she eventually drifted back into unconsciousness.

When she awoke again, there were beams of light streaking through the entrance to the cave from behind a thin fur covering that stretched along the circular opening. It was slightly chilly, and Clarke snuggled down underneath the furs. She let her eyes roam her surroundings, taking in details that she had missed before underneath the night's darkness. The walls were made of dirt and stone, but what she had not seen were the paintings that adorned them.

She ached to add her own to the walls, or to simply trace her fingers along the ones already present, but she could not bare to move. It was a medium sized cave, with room enough for the bed she lay on, a small table and a group of baskets, sitting against the far wall. The door that was partially covered by the fur hanging across it let in light and fresh air, which allowed her to see the fact that the cave was well cared for.

The floor was as smooth as it could be, and many of the extra leaves and stones that she assumed would line a cave floor had been removed. She briefly wondered who had bothered to place her here, and if that person would reveal themselves. She was broken from her thoughts by a shuffling outside of the cave, and the moving of the fur flap from the cave opening.

Her mouth opened in surprise, although no sound came out of her parched throat. A man entered the small room. He was large and muscled, and quite attractive Clarke noticed. His head was shaved and shiny, with only a small strip of closely sheered hair forming a line down the center of his scalp. He was covered in thick clothing, a combination of cloth, buckles, and fur.

His eyes were deep and mysterious, but looked relatively kind Clarke thought with relief. The man noticed her state of consciousness with a confused and relieved look. He started to speak quickly in a language that Clarke did not understand, but she was too busy realizing that an educated life form was still present on Earth, to even attempt to understand what the man was saying.

She watched warily as he stepped closer to her, repeating what he had said before in the same language. She shook her head with fresh tears streaming down her face. She didn't understand him, and with that realization, she knew that it was unlikely he would understand her. And with that, her hope of survival diminished greatly.

The man looked confused and he reached towards her. She tried to scoot away but ended up placing weight on her fractured right arm, causing her to howl in pain. His expression turned to one of worry and sympathy. "Please," she begged, "Please help me." The last part came out as more a whimper, and the man jerked away from her, recoiling as if he had been stung.

She coughed, her dry mouth inhibiting her from speaking again. Luckily the man seemed to understand her predicament, and with a slow movement he reached down to grab the flask at his waist. Clarke watched with apprehension and greed clear in her blue eyes as the man unplugged the wooden cork from the top of the flask and then brought the animal skin towards her mouth.

She opened her mouth and felt a stream of warm water flow into her. At that point, she didn't care if the water was warm, or tasted slightly sulfuric, she was just immensely thankful for the liquid entering her dehydrated body. She blinked her eyes in gratitude at the man, who had now moved his other hand to cup Clarke's head to better allow her to drink the water he was providing.

He nodded his head at her before pulling the flask away. Clarke looked regretful at its absence but the medical part of her brain knew that too much water added to her body would cause her cells to explode, which would induce an early death. "Thank you," she rasped to the man, who again nodded his head. Her stomach growled loudly, causing her cheeks to blush and an embarrassed look to fill her eyes.

The man chuckled lightly before pulling a small sack out from within his pack. Clarke looked curiously at it, but when she saw the dried meat that was pulled out of it, she could barely hold in the saliva that pooled in her mouth. The man spent the next hour slowly feeding Clarke at a pace that would allow her stomach to expand and accept the food without causing her to throw up everything she had just consumed.

When she had finished the dried meat, which she associated with the word 'jerky,' she felt full and content. She wanted to stay awake, to know who this man was and why he had helped her, but to her discontent she fell back into the darkness of her mind into a deep sleep.

Her dreams haunted her. They were similar to the nightmares that had awoken her last night, with her mother and father, and the perilous fall to Earth followed by a flash of light and blinding pain. She awoke screaming, her flailing hands shoving the furs off of her sweating body. She felt sick, and the familiar taste of bile rose in her throat. She barely had time to lean over the bed before she had thrown up everything she had managed to eat the day before.

She noticed that the vomit from the day before had been removed, and she felt a pang of embarrassment and gratitude for the man who had done that. The cave was full of light, and that made her unsure of how long she had been sleeping for. Had it been several hours, or a day? She shook her head, feeling the tight stretch of her healing wounds moving. She knew that she needed to have her wounds stitched soon, or they would become infected.

She looked down at her bare arm and with a surprised grunt she realized that the bones had been set back into their original position. She quickly checked her right leg, noticing that her hip had been relocated, and her shin had been fixed and splinted. She felt a pang of regret as she looked at the torn linen by her arm, realizing that she had torn off her sling during her nightmare.

She guessed that she had in fact been asleep for a day, or two even, due to the pain that must have been caused by the setting of both bones. Her mouth was once again dry, and her stomach rolled uncomfortably from the lack of food and the left over bile that pooled there. She looked across the cave to the small table and saw that there were several small packages and a flask lying there.

She groaned knowing she would have to walk in order to reach the nutrients her body so badly craved. She swung her left leg over the side of the bed with a hiss of pain and with tender slowness, tried to move her right leg to follow its partner. The pain was immense, and Clarke's head swam with stars. She fought through the pain and several minutes later both of her feet were brushing the ground. She used her left arm to push her body upward along with the help of her left leg.

When she had managed to support most of her weight on her left leg, she moved her hand to press up against the cave wall. If she had estimated correctly, it would take several hops to reach the table, where thankfully a stool sat close by. Keeping her hand on the wall, she took a tentative hop, moving about half a foot forward.

The movement caused jolts of pain to shoot up her leg, and she almost collapsed back onto the bed. However, she remained standing and forced herself to take another hop towards the table. This pattern continued for close to ten minutes until Clarke practically fell onto of the stool. Her chest heaved and her head swam. The pain was immense, but the joy of having successfully achieved her goal was greater.

She allowed herself several moments of rest before she awkwardly used her left hand to pry open the closed pouches. Inside of them she found fresh berries and more of the jerky she had eaten the other day. She tore into them, trying to follow the slow pattern the man had shown her yesterday, but failing miserably. After finishing, her stomach bulged and the felt as if she might vomit, but she held it in, desperate to keep a hold of the only food she could readily obtain.

There was a longer pouch with a cork that sloshed when Clarke picked it up and she assumed that this was water. She took this at a slower pace, the risk that accompanied consuming it at a faster rate was much greater than that of the food. She took several gulps, but decided to save the rest for later, unsure of when that 'later' might be.

She looked across the small room at the bed lying there. She wrinkled her nose at the sweaty blankets now coated in a thick layer of her body's grime. Even in her tired state, she did not wish to return there, so she lowered her head to the table and the minute it touched she fell back into sleep.

She had just barely closed her eyes when the fur flap covering the cave's entrance swished open and a procession of people entered the tent, many of them yelling furiously. Clarke jumped awake, her tense body falling off the stool and onto the ground. She screamed at the pain, feeling her arm breaking again. Her screams effectively silenced the newly arrived group of people, and in the daze of her pain she barely realized when her body had been lifted into the air by a strong pair of arms.

Her blue eyes fluttered open, tears leaking out freely. She saw the man's familiar face and she reached out her left arm to stroke the sharp angles of it. He looked very surprised, but Clarke didn't have time to analyze his reaction because moments later her body curled up with tremors of pain and she threw up blood.

She felt herself being carried back to the bed where she was put down carefully. She curled up into a ball, trying to protect her stomach. She felt fingers pushing away the sweaty blonde locks of hair that were plastered to her face, and the coolness of their skin eased the heat of her body. Her mind was lost in a haze of pain and for a moment she forgot where she was.

She saw her father's face floating above her and she now knew that it was he who was pushing away the hair from her face. She leaned into his hand, desperate to hold onto the memory of his gentle touch. His fingers stopped and pulled away. She felt panic rise within her; he was leaving her again, she couldn't let that happen. She used her left hand to grab at his retreating hand, holding on to it like it was a lifeline.

"Don't leave, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed brokenly. She felt him stop, but she still didn't loosen her hold on his hand. She was glad she didn't because soon she felt him being pulled away from her again. This time it was because of another person, and in her clouded mind she saw her mother's face. She felt anger and panic rise within her and she stumbled off of the bed, rising to her feet, placing all of her weight on her left leg.

Her right hand was clutched against her stomach, which was covered in fresh blood. The bones of her arm poked through her skin and the sight made her nauseated. But she pushed away the pain desperate to protect the man she believed to be her father. She growled at the woman with her mother's face, feeling warm blood dribble from her mouth. "No," she spat out, "You can't have him."

Her mother's face snorted, and the tug pulling her father away increased. "Stupid girl," she heard come from her mother's mouth, although the sound of her voice was different to Clarke's ear.

Still Clarke fought. "I won't let you kill your family again," she growled out, accusation clear in her voice. The woman faltered in front of her, and Clarke lost sight of her mother's face. Instead the tanned face of another woman stood before her. Clarke's brow furrowed in confusion and relief before she felt a blinding pain on her temple and she crumpled to the floor in a heap.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Clarke came to in the darkness of the night. There were candles lit, although the room she was in was different than the cave that had been her home for the past week. The walls were tiled in white, with a band of yellow and blue tiles lining the middle. The floor was cement, and unlike the cave, it was covered in dirt, sticks, and dead leaves.

She was lying in a bed, similar to the one in the cave, with a full set of furs covering her. She pulled back the furs to look at her body, and once again noted that her injuries had been healed. Her arm had been reset and sown shut. With nervously trembling fingers, she pulled up her shirt to look at her stomach, which she had previously neglected to examine.

There were fresh looking stitches lining many of the wounds there, although the blood that had coated her previously had been washed off. In fact, the entirety of her body seemed to have been cleaned of dried blood and its natural grime and sweat.

She reached up a hand to her hair and felt that despite the rest of her body's cleanliness, her hair was still matted and oily. She guessed that she had simply been cleaned with wet cloths instead of receiving a bath, not that she was complaining. She lay back in bed, knowing it was better to rest and prevent the tearing of her stitches, no matter how curious or scared she was of her predicament.

She let her eyes roam the ceiling of the building, imagining the night sky instead of the cracked cement ceiling. She had never seen the stars before and therefore her imaginations were limited to the descriptions provided by the books from the Old World and her dreams.

Preoccupied by the images in her mind, Clarke failed to see the person sitting in the shadows of the room, who gazed at her with a pair of burning, green eyes.


	3. Maybe

The figure in the corner watched the sleeping girl with curiosity in her features. She watched patiently as the girl's breathing became even and deep, her breaths leaving small clouds floating in the frosty winter air. She tilted her head slightly, trying to ascertain the potential threat that the girl would bring to her people. The girl looked harmless, but she was well aware that appearances could be deceiving. Gathering nothing else from watching the girl rest, she was about to slink out of the building, leaving her hiding spot in the shadows of the tiled room, when she heard the blonde-haired girl moan and toss about in her sleep.

Her curiosity mounted and instead of making her way towards the locked door, she crept closer to the girl. She held an unearthly beauty that none of her people possessed: pale, semi-translucent skin, bright blue eyes, and angelically blonde hair. Her brow creased as she watched the girl before her twist around underneath the furs on the bed.

Her moans and whimpers grew louder, becoming increasingly more anguished. She watched as beads of sweat coated her forehead, dripping down past her temples and onto her slim neck. The girl's fingers dug into the furs, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white, devoid of blood. She watched as the girl's mouth opened, the whimpers stopping momentarily for two words to be hissed out, "Murderer," and a slightly broken, "Betrayer."

She stilled in her movements towards the blonde, her breath pausing in her chest refusing to come out. Her frozen heart melted slightly, and she felt furious at the offending muscles. She clenched her own fists tightly, schooling her face into one of mastered indifference. She turned and made her way out of the tiled room, leaving the blonde girl, and a part of her heart, behind.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Clarke woke from the same nightmare hours later, the dream still hovering slightly on the edges of her mind. It had been different this time, she thought, remembering the fight with her mother before following her father on his deathly travels through space. She had watched as her mother pressed the button that opened the Ark's doors into blackened sky without a look of remorse of grief on her face. It had seemed so real, and for a moment Clarke had believed it to be true.

She shook her head slightly, trying to fight against the painful memories. She didn't have time to worry about the past when she needed to focus on surviving the future. She tried to better conceptualize her surroundings, paying attentions to the details that had been hidden under the veil of night. She noticed that the room was seemingly empty beside the bed she lay on, and a small stool that sat in the far corner of the room.

It was obvious that the room was not used for domestic use, Clarke thought. She made to rise off of the bed when she noticed that her left wrist had been tied with rope to a small metal bracket attached to the tiled wall. The attachment allowed for several feet of movement away from the bed, and Clarke growled in frustration at her inherent helplessness.

She knew it would be futile to attempt escape, the knotting of the rope both on her wrist and to the bracket on the wall was immaculate and Clarke knew she would have no chance of undoing either end. She sighed pathetically, falling back down onto the bed with a soft thump. She wanted to scream in frustration at the situation she had been left in; she was right in her previous assumption, being sent to Earth was a death wish.

She let the anger fill her, pushing away the rational part of her mind, and finally she let herself succumb to the emotions that ran rampant throughout her. She jumped out of bed to the best of her ability, ignoring the pain that shot up through her right leg. She released the scream that had been building up within her chest. It was sharp and primal, and soon another followed it.

She punched the wall with her good hand, relishing in the pain that coursed through her. She beat the fury out of her and into the cracked tiling of the old wall. She punched and slapped until she felt the bones in her hand crunching in protest. With sickening humor, she realized she had just broken her hand. She laughed maniacally, tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping through the crack between her breasts to her torn stomach.

She heard several loud bangs and the sound of hustling footsteps approaching her. Her eyes closed in anticipation, and she began laughing again at the irony that her death was probably nearing with every heavy footfall. The door slammed open and she heard several bodies enter the room, filling the thick air with fear and disappointment.

She shut her mouth, falling silent as she listened to a single pair of footsteps stalk closer to her prone form on the floor. There was a sharp jab to her left shoulder, and Clarke growled, her eyes flying open wildly to look at a tall and imposing man standing before her.

He had a bushy and fierce beard, which was complimented by his long, braided hair. She studied the tattoos on his face, neck, and arms, observing the same tribal patterns that she had seen briefly on her savior's body. She looked past the large man to the people behind him.

There were several other equally strong and well-muscled men behind him with their swords drawn and pinched expressions on their faces. She snarled at them before turning her attention to the girl timidly following the posy of warriors. She let her eyes roam the features of the girl's face and body, taking in the intricately beautiful tattoos on dirty and bruised skin. She moved her gaze up to the woman's face, taking in the mass of tangled brown curls that were held back loosely by a simple headband.

The girl wore simple and ragged clothing to a liking that was very different towards the rich winter clothing of the warriors in front of her. Her attention was torn away from the girl and back towards the man when she felt him lean down and fist his fingers into her shirt, pulling her into a standing position.

She glared at him heatedly while he pushed her back onto the bed with harsh words in the language she did not understand. She felt another wave of anger overcome her and she snipped back at the man in voice that dripped with poisoned honey, "If you are going to insult me, Sir, please do so in a language that I understand so that I may have the chance of reciprocating."

She watched with a smirk on her face as the man's face hardened and his grip became tighter. "Insolent child," he spat back at her. "You will wait here until the Commander sees fit to see you," her growled again, his eyes flaming with frustration, and something else that Clarke couldn't quite place. She knew it was foolish to act to childishly around the people who had the ultimate say so over her life or death, but the anger within her would not allow her to do anything else. She nodded her head slightly at the man in a clearly dismissive manner before turning her body away from him to face the wall.

She heard him snort under his breath before leaving the room, the group of warriors following in his stead. After hearing the door close with a screeching bang she allowed herself to deflate, letting the pent up air whoosh out of her lungs. She no longer pretended to be strong, or proud. The anger that had helped her to do so had left, leaving her empty and hollow.

She wished she had her iPod and the comforting presence of its music. She let out a tired sigh, her body collapsing in on itself, causing her to slump and lean her head against the coolness of the tiled wall. She started to hum one of her favorite melodies under her breath, letting the peaceful tune soothe the stiffness in her muscles and the fear in her heart.

She lifted her lips apart and began to sing. Her throat was dry and her words raspy, but Clarke sang as if her life depended on it. She started slow, letting her brain have several minutes to remember the words, before diving deep into the song. She sang passionately, her voice filled with remorse, anger, hope, and fear.

The song was by one of her favorite artists from the Old World, Ed Sheeran. It spoke of death and camaraderie, of a world dying by fire's hand. It was melancholic, but it felt appropriate for the situation at hand. When she finished the song she felt the warm wetness of tears staining her cheeks. She breathed deeply, trying to regain control of her body and its emotions.

She froze when she heard a small shuffling sound coming from behind her. She spun around, ignoring the pain in her hip as it twisted awkwardly to accommodate her movements. Sitting in front of her on the small stool in the corner was the timid girl from before. Clarke studied the girl's features, noticing how cold and distant they were. Despite being covered in dirt and looking pitifully beaten, the girl maintained a suppressed yet still regal and authoritative air.

Clarke cocked her head before averting her gaze slightly, a blush rising up her neck and onto her cheeks after she realized the length of time she had been starting at the girl for. She could feel the burn of the other girl's gaze on her skin, causing her to shiver slightly, the small hairs on her arms rising.

She raised her head once more and met the eyes of the girl in front of her. She noticed that they were a beautiful shade of light green. She gazed into them, trying desperately to read the girl's thoughts and emotions, which were resting just under the surface of the hardened exterior. She was jolted out of her examinations by a weary voice. "You have caused much uproar within the town."

Clarke shook her head and sighed, "That was never my intent. I'm just trying to survive."

"Yet you have. There is talk among the people that you are a seer." The girl looked slightly fearful, although it almost looked false, as if she was playing scared while instead she was curiously analyzing Clarke. The blonde girl narrowed her eyes, her lips thinning into a line.

"People think what they want to think; I have learned that well enough in my life." Clarke's voice quieted and became cold.

"Your song spoke of a mountain." The girl's voice was shaking slightly, and it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Clarke replied, "A place that brought only greed and death to its people." She watched as the girl in front of her sucked in a breath.

"Did they all die?" The girl questioned with a slightly hopeful lilt in her throaty voice. Clarke smiled lightly and shook her head.

"They burned, all of them. But, it is just a song, it holds no real meaning." The girl in front of her seemed unimpressed and doubtful of Clarke's answer, but she voiced no complaint.

Clarke felt slightly uncomfortable so she asked, "What is your name?" The brunette stiffened slightly before relaxing, letting a beautiful name slip from her lips.

"Lexa," she girl said. Clarke studied the girl and decided that the name fit her.

"My name is Clarke," she responded.

" _Klark_ ," the girl said in the same accent she had pronounced her own name with. Lexa rolled the 'k' on the end of her name, and that alone send shivers through Clarke's body. "And what clan do you hail from _Klark_?"

Clarke felt confused and slightly angry at the question. "I have no clan. The people I belonged to incriminated me and sent me to die on earth. They are no clan of mine." Lexa looked deeply curious and slightly wearier.

"You were a criminal?" Clarke's anger grew and she spat back at the girl.

"The Ark was dying and my father wanted to alert the people of that fact. Because I knew this information, I was put in solitary confinement for several months before being sent down here."

Lexa looked affronted. "You and your father were imprisoned for helping your people survive?" She sounded furious and slightly suspicious.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at Lexa, thinking that the girl seemed to be very different than the simple serving girl she was pretending to be. The girl hunched before her gaze, lowering her head, although Clarke could see the action was an unfamiliar one for the brunette.

"My father was killed instantly," her voice caught as she thought back to her nightmare from earlier. "And I'm pretty sure my mother was the one who ordered it." A small sob broke through, along with several tears, which were hastily wiped away by her broken left hand. Those movements only served to bring more tears, and pained whimpers through her clenched teeth.

"I heard a rumor that you accused the Commander of killing her family." Clarke's tears stopped at this and confusion flooded her gaze.

"They must be mistaken, I was yelling at my mother in a dream in order to protect my father." She thought back to what Lexa had said, "Wait, the Commander killed her family?" Her voice sounded incredulous and slightly fearful and she watched as Lexa stiffened and leaned away from her.

"The Commander faced many trials during her Ascension." Lexa's voice became very formal and cold.

"I am sorry if I offended you or your people, that was not my intent." Clarke was worried that she had insulted the Commander, and knew that it would not bode well for her survival if the girl took it as such.

Lexa nodded her head slowly, although Clarke could see the pain clearly within her green eyes. She was slightly confused. Surely a mere servant would not feel immense grief for the loss of the Commander's family, Clark thought suspiciously.

She did not have time to dwell on this however because Lexa had asked her another question. "Where do you come from, _Klark_?" This time it was Clarke's turn to become dour and sad.

"I have lived in the sky for the entirety of my life. I had a privileged life with my mother helping to run the Ark and my father being the head engineer."

Lexa's features seemed to clear. "Ah, you are _Prisa_." Clarke's brow furrowed, but the girl made no motion to explain the word. "What are your plans for the ground, _Klark_?"

Clarke sighed, feeling a heavy weight falling onto her shoulders. "I don't know, to survive to the best of my ability, I suppose. I was training to be a doctor, so I can offer healing services in exchange for my care."

"I am sure the Commander will be pleased to hear that, _Klark_." Lexa spoke. Clarke nodded once before she spoke again, trying to learn more about the girl in front of her.

"What do you do, Lexa?" Lexa looked confused at the question and Clarke paused before rephrasing. "What type of work do you perform?" Lexa's features cleared and she looked slightly conflicted before answering.

"I am a servant to my people," she said without any further explanation. Clarke nodded her head at the girl's answer. She was slightly frustrated at her inability to learn more about the girl, but she tried not to let it show.

"I understand that," Clarke sighed in response. "Maybe there will be a day that neither of us owes anything more to our people." Her voice is light, but underlying it is the desperation and inherent hopelessness of that wish.

"Maybe," Lexa says simply, although her voice is filled with the same, although muted, emotions as Clarke's.


	4. Heda

**Hey guys! Sorry about the wait, but I just got back from visiting my family after school got out, so I haven't had any time to write** **L** **I'll try to post as fast as I can to make up for it, pinky promise.**

Clarke observed Lexa closely as the girl made way to leave the room. The blonde thought it was strange how the brunette had stayed after the guards had left, and she thought it was even more peculiar how a beaten servant girl still seemed to hold an impeccable air of authority.

She winced slightly as the metal door slammed shut. The sound seemed to echo through the room and it was a brutal reminder of her imprisonment. The pain in her freshly broken wrist had dulled slightly since Clarke had been able to hold it firmly in place, but it still burned fiercely.

She sighed heavily, knowing that her emotional tantrum had disrupted the healing of her injuries, and that she would require medical attention if she wanted to have the use of her left hand ever again. She missed the gentle care of the man who had helped her after her landing, and she wished desperately for any type of relief from the stress of worrying over her predicament.

The guards had mentioned a meeting with the Commander, and Clarke assumed that it would be in the near future, however, she had lost track of time and had no idea how soon that would be. She lay back in her bed, letting her blonde curls splay across the flimsy pillow that had been provided for her use.

She shrugged internally, if there was nothing to do except wait for the Commander to see her, than she might as well sleep to aid her body's healing. She hated the dream world, and sleeping meant entering that place of horrors, but as her eyes closed shut, she knew there was no going back now.

Clarke expected to find herself back within the constricting metal walls of the Ark, but instead she saw the blurring image of the world through the scratched windows of the escape pod. Her seat belt cut deep into her body, which had been thrown forward after entering the atmosphere.

She saw flames licking up the side of the pod, and it became very hot, causing Clarke to sweat. She felt very claustrophobic trapped within the hurtling piece of scrap metal. She swore to herself as her body began to panic. She twisted and screamed as Earth came closer. She shut her eyes tight, knowing that the inevitable landing would soon occur.

There was another crash and Clarke felt her body being thrown backward. The pod had landed on its right side, and Clarke felt the pain of her injuries. She heard the popping sound of her hip dislocating and she screamed again, her throat already hoarse and dry. Fire coursed through her veins and spilt down over her skin as the bones of her arm and leg broke through their fleshy barriers.

The pain was unimaginable and Clarke felt herself on the brink of darkness. Her eyelids fluttered and closed shortly before opening again. When they did open, she found herself gazing into the eyes of her mother. She blinked disbelievingly. She watched as her mother smiled grotesquely before pulling out a scalpel and plunging it into her heart.

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she tasted metal as hot blood trickled into her mouth. She was drowning, and she fell back into darkness, letting the fire consume her.

Clarke jerked awake and saw the familiar tiled walls of her cell; it brought a strange sense of comfort to her. Clarke still had the lingering taste of metal within her mouth and she leaned over the side of her bed and spat. Her saliva was bloody and Clarke guessed that she must have bitten herself in her sleep.

Her assumptions were proven correct as her tongue probed over her torn and ragged bottom lip, which her teeth had severed in her dream. The taste of blood and the memory of her dream made her feel nauseated, and with a spinning head, she leaned over the side of the bed once more and vomited.

The acid burned her throat, but her stomach felt relieved. She groaned miserably, knowing that she had just lost the remainder of the nutrients her body desperately needed in order to heal. She wiped her mouth on the corner of a fur, which smelt like sweat and was covered in grime.

Her body ached and her head was still swimming, but she managed to pull herself up into a sitting position. She looked down at her left hand, which was incredibly swollen. Normally, she would attempt to set it herself, but seeing as her right arm was resting in a sling, that was not an option.

She tore her gaze away from her injured hand when she heard the stomping sounds of boots against the cement floors. The heard a loud clanging noise and saw the cage like door of her tiled cell open. In stormed the same guards that she had seen yesterday, and without pause the moved to her bed and pulled her into a standing position.

She yelped in pain and her facial features contorted into a twisted expression. She heard one of the guards whisper furiously at the bearded guard who had yanked her from her bed. With a huff she felt his grip relax, and then without warning she was suddenly swept up into his arms.

She glared at him, but he refused to meet her eyes, leaving her anger and shame to broil barely concealed within her. She was carried out of the cell and throughout the winding passages of building she was being held within. The walls were similarly tiled, however the coloring differed slightly as they progressed through the passages.

Eventually they reached a flight of stairs and the guards proceeded to climb them. Clarke was jostled slightly, causing a huge amount of fiery pain to shoot up through her right arm and leg. She gritted her teeth to prevent her pained whimpers from escaping her mouth. The effort caused a sheen of sweat to cover her pale forehead, and her breathing to come in short pants.

She tried to focus on anything except the pain and the building bile rising up her throat. She thought of the man who had saved her, wondering what had happened to him after her capture. She hoped that he had not been punished or even killed on her behalf. It was a fervent wish, but Clarke was desperate to hold onto it. It was the sole source of comfort she had new on this Earth, and she would be damned if it slipped through her fingers.

The blinding light at the end of the staircase came suddenly and its nauseatingly bright light caused spinning in Clarke's head to intensify. She could not hold back a moan and to her dismay she found herself leaning of the guards arms to empty the contents of her stomach onto the ground. She had not eaten or drank since she had been captured and so it was mostly stomach acid and bile.

The guard swore and Clarke felt her body drop slightly. The swallowed thickly, trying to erase the repulsive taste within her fuzzy mouth. Eventually the walking continued, but Clarke noticed that she was now being held at an arms length from the guard's body, as if he was warding off more vomit that might come his way.

The thought entered her mind and she huffed lightly from amusement. She kept her eyes wide open, wanting to see as much of the ground as she could. It was beautiful tapestry of greens, browns, and a splattering of other more vibrant colors. She noticed that as their procession moved forward through the small town, they began to attract the attention of the villagers.

She could feel the curious burn of their eyes on her skin, but she refused to lower her head, looking them each in the eye when their gaze caught hers. She could read almost nothing from their faces, although Clarke swore that there was a curious gleam in their eyes. Eventually they reached a large tent that was placed near the middle of the city. There were two guards outside and they stared impassively down at her as she was swept inside.

The tent was made up of what looked like cloth and animal skins, both of which let in the day's natural light, which illuminated the room. In the back of the room there was a large chair made out of intricately carved pieces of wood. It sat elegantly on a raised dais, but what really drew Clarke's attention was the person sitting in it.

However, she was denied a closer look at the shadowed figure. She felt her body drop again, except this time she was not caught in the strong arms of the guard once more. She felt her body connect with the ground and no matter how hard she gritted her teeth, or willed away the pain, and haunting yowl split through her thinning lips. Her broken wrist had absorbed most of the contact, and with a pained whimper Clarke clutched it against her chest.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She used her abdominal muscles to pull herself into a sitting position; a feat that left her short of breath and with a swimming head. As she positioned herself she heard the guard speak above her, " _Yu honon, Heda (your prisoner, Commander)."_ Clarke glared up at him, but her gaze was drawn away to the figure on the throne when it spoke.

" _Gon we, goch op (Leave us, guard),"_ the voice commanded. It was silky and feminine, although it still held a rich timbre. Clarke watched as the guards bowed their heads and exited the room. Clarke remembered hearing that voice before and she wracked her thoughts for any memory of where. When the woman rose from her seat and paced towards her, the sun finally fell upon her face and Clarke gasped in shock.

There before her stood Lexa. She was dressed in all black, with a red sash attached to a pauldron atop her shoulder. Her clothing was made of cotton and fur and had many intricate buckles. Her brunette hair had been washed and the simple headband removed. In its place were tens of braids, which pulled her hair away from her face, and allowed for Clarke to gaze upon her frozen features.

Clarke furrowed her brows in confusion, her mind scrambling to attach meaning to the girl's presence. "Lexa?" She said timidly as her eyes probed Lexa's green ones. Another woman moved to stand beside Lexa. Her hand was placed on her sword and her dark, brown eyes were filled with disgust and hatred.

"You will speak with respect to the Commander, _honon_ ," the woman spat. Clarke turned her attention back to Lexa, her blue eyes widening in fear and betrayal.

" _Em_ _pleni_ , Indra. She is unaware of our customs," Lexa rebuked. The dark-skinned woman retreated several steps with a bowed head, however Clarke could still feel the anger radiating off of the woman.

Clarke was silent as she looked at Lexa. She had to crane her head at an uncomfortable angle in order to look directly in the other girl's eyes, so she began the painful process of standing to rectify that. When she had risen to her feet, the fire coursing through her veins had intensified and she swayed slightly.

When she had regained her composure, she looked deeply into Lexa's eyes. "It all makes sense now," Clarke mused out loud. She saw something flicker through the brunette's eyes, and if she was correct in her assumptions, it looked vaguely like fear. "Yes, I had my suspicions, but I was too foolish to put everything together." She laughed darkly to herself.

Finally the warrior beside Lexa could stay silent for no longer. "Of what do you speak of, foolish girl?" Clarke raised her eyebrows slightly before redirecting her gaze back to the rigid-looking Lexa.

"You could never have been mistaken for a simple serving girl, Commander," Clarke said with a small smile on her lips. She spoke directly to Lexa, ignoring the pugnacious woman beside her, who proceeded to snort in agreement.

She watched as Lexa raised a slender eyebrow, "And how did you come to this conclusion, _Klark_ _kom_ _Skai_?" Lexa questioned her with a hardened edge to her voice. Clarke waited in silence for a small moment, pondering her answer before speaking.

"Why leave a servant girl with me instead of a guard? She would be uneducated, unable to understand my language, which I can imagine would be a severe miscalculation for any person trying to gain information from me." She paused slightly here, looking deep into Lexa's eyes.

"That's where you made your first mistake, Commander. The second was harder to pick up on, but still noticeable." She watched as the Commander leaned forward slightly, a movement that was almost imperceptible unless closely paid attention too. Clarke felt her lips twist up into a small smirk as she continued with her explanation.

"You are used to power, to complete control, and unrequited respect." She was interrupted here when the woman, Indra, roared:

"She is _Heda_ , _branwada_!" Lexa's attention was draw back to the dark-skinned woman beside her and Clarke could not help but feel a small pang of satisfaction when Lexa hissed at the woman.

" _Gyon_ _au (Get out)_." The woman prickled but bowed her head in acquiescence before sweeping out of the tent. "Continue, _Klark_ ," Lexa spoke again, but in a much gentler voice.

Clarke nodded her head but looked warily at the bearded man standing behind Lexa on the dais. He had been quiet and removed for the entirety of their conversation, but Clarke could not help wondering if that would change. It seemed that Lexa understood Clarke's hesitations and she was quick to assure her, "There will be no more interruptions."

Clarke dipped her head and cleared her throat. "Even in the guise of a servant your back was straight and your head was held high, as if that was natural for you. No servant would have that type of posturing."

Clarke frowned slightly before speaking again. She had been slightly confused at this particular part in Lexa's ruse, and part of her hoped she would have her questions answered. "You were covered in bruises, as if you had been recently beaten, but the bruises were not placed in the normal areas for a stereotypical beating, meaning you must have obtained them doing something else."

She watched closely as Lexa's eyes widened slightly. "You are right, they are from sparring and hunting. How do you know of these things?" This time it was Clarke who lost part of her composure. Her breath caught in her lungs and her eyes became glassy.

"I have enough personal experience to know," she answered through gritted teeth, trying to push away the painful memories of her time on the Ark where her fellow classmates had subtly bullied her for her privilege and competitiveness in the classroom. They would find her on her way home and drag her to places where she could not be found. There they would beat and kick her in places invisible to the general eye.

Lexa looked shocked. "But you are _Prisa_ ," she said with confusion laced through her voice. Clarke snorted slightly at her statement like question.

"Many people thought that I did not deserve the privilege that was given to me. They were jealous and angry."

Lexa confused look had turned to one of barely concealed anger. "I do not like these people of yours, _Klark._ " Clarke laughed sharply at this.

"The Ark is less than ideal, Commander. There is a small circle of elite who rule selfishly, with a large population of angry commoners who often cannot afford proper nutrition, oxygen, or water. It is the leaders of the Ark that I hold my grudge with, as do many of the Ark's citizens."

Clarke was beginning to feel faint; the pain grew and spread throughout her body, making it difficult for her to remain standing. She began to sway back and forth, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.

The Commander looked at her worriedly and out of the corner of her eye Clarke saw her motion to the grizzled man behind her. Clarke realized it was the same bearded warrior that had visited her in her cell. " _Hos of, ai gafen fisa (Hurry, I need a healer)!"_ Clarke's eyes rolled back into her head and her body collapsed.


	5. Bullets and Butterflies

Lexa rushed forwards as the blonde collapsed, surprising both her guards and herself. Lexa stood up carefully with Clarke cradled in her arms from her crouched position, and slowly made her way out of the tent. She looked around for the healer and to her relief, spotted him running towards her.

"Nyko!" She called, her voice calmly authoritative. Her features were cold and distant however there was a flicker of worry in her darkening, green eyes.

"Heda, what is the matter?" Nyko asked with curiosity in his voice.

"My prisoner has collapsed and suffers from severe injuries. _Fis em op (Fix her up)."_ Nyko nodded his head but asked no more questions. He held his arms out for the blonde girl to be transferred into but was surprised when Lexa shook her head.

"I will accompany you. She is my prisoner and her health is of the upmost importance." Lexa commented as an answer to the blatant confusion on his face. Nyko nodded once more and turned around to the face the direction he had come from. They made there way down the main street towards a long wooden building with spirals of smoke coming from a hole on the top of the roof.

A guard opened the door to the building and held it for the Trikru healer and the Commander. They walked inside and Lexa was assaulted by the smell of herbs and fire smoke, while her eyes took in the sight of abandoned beds lined against the wall.

Nyko motioned to the bed closest to the back of the building. Lexa obliged willingly, walking slowly and carefully with Clarke in her arms towards the bed. She lay the girl down reluctantly and took a step backwards, allowing Nyko access to his newest patient.

Nyko took a glance at her splinted arm and leg, as well as a brief look at her severely fractured wrist. He frowned, letting his gaze roam over the rest of her body. He noticed the dried and fresh blood on the shirt of the girl lying on the bed and once again his curiosity peaked.

" _Heda_ , what happened to her, in honesty?" Lexa looked around the room once, noting its emptiness, and finally turned back to Nyko.

"She fell from the sky in a piece of metal, the landing of which caused the fractured arm and leg, as well as the dislocated hip. The cuts are also from the fall, however the fractured wrist is from her stay in the prison." She spoke in a distant voice, trying to remove all emotion from her words.

"I see," was all the healer said in response as he began his work. He removed the girl's jacket with some difficulty from the obstruction of the splint on her arm. He noticed the almost healed abrasions and lacerations on the girl's arms and shoulder area. He furrowed his brows in confusion; those wounds should not have healed as quickly, he thought.

He made to remove the girl's shirt, pulling it up and over her head. He was shocked by what he saw. There was a large circular scar in the middle of her stomach, which was covered in semi-healed lacerations, which had caused the minute amount of fresh bleeding. The worst of the wounds were scabbed over, and the rest were covered in new scar tissue.

He looked questioningly up at Lexa, and her brows furrowed in response to his own. "What is wrong, Nyko?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"When did the _skaigada_ fall to Earth, _Heda_?" He asked quietly but with a firm voice.

"Two weeks past, but why should that matter?" Nyko gulped and his eyes turned back to the pale girl lying stretched out on the bed beside them.

"The rate of healing on these cuts is unprecedented. There normally should not be scar tissue of any sort, and only the most minor of the cuts would have this much scabbing already. Any sort of movement could have provoked severe internal and external bleeding, none of which she has."

He shook his head and reached a calloused hand out to the girl's wrist. "If the rest of her heals as quickly as her wounds have healed, then this will need to be set as soon as possible." He took her hand and arm and twisted them sharply so that the bone reset in the right position. While his back was turned he didn't notice the painful expression on his Commander's face at his actions.

Lexa watched as Nyko hustled to the back or the room where his supplies were kept. He came back with two pieces of firm wood, as well as some clean cloth. He quickly splinted the girl's left wrist, before placing it back by her side. His fingers ghosted over her stomach, pausing slightly at the circular wound in the middle of her abdomen.

" _Heda_ , is this what I think it is?" He asked. Lexa walked closer to Clarke and leaned close to look at the scar Nyko had pointed out. Her eyes widened and her brows furrowed once more.

"A gunshot wound," she mused with a tension thick in her voice. Nyko nodded his head at her in agreement but the whimpering and movement of the girl lying in the bed in front of them stopped further conversation.

Lexa watched as Clarke shook in her sleep, and almost jumped when the blonde sat straight up in bed with wild, rolling eyes and screams falling out of her mouth. "Clarke! Clarke!" Lexa said loudly as she moved towards the panicking girl. Blue eyes connected with green, and she watched as Clarke froze. Within seconds the girl had hunched over the side of the bed and was heaving onto the floor.

Nyko hurried over to the girl with a bottle of tonic in his hand. "Here," he said thrusting the bottle towards the girl, "This will rid you of the stomach sickness." Clarke gazed up at him before grasping the bottle and chugging its contents like a dying man would a life-saving potion.

Lexa called out to the guards standing in front of the healer's building; they both quickly came to attention. "I need food and water." The guards nodded and bowed before retreating the way they had come in. She turned her attention back to Clarke, her eyes filled with unanswered questions.

"You have healed remarkably well, _Klark kom Skai_. Some might say too well," Lexa stated, her eyes boring into Clarke's. Clarke gulped noticeably and scooted backwards in her bed, but she quickly straightened and glared back into Lexa's eyes.

"I was genetically altered to heal quickly on the Ark," Clarke whispered, her mind filled with painful memories.

"Does it have anything to do with the strange scar on your abdomen?" Lexa questioned with caution laced in her voice, unaware of what Clarke's reaction might be. However, Clarke was spared from the impending interrogation by the entrance of the guards. Clarke's mouth watered at the tempting smell of food that wafted from the entrance.

The guard walked closer and stopped slightly behind Lexa. "Heda, food for your prisoner." Clarke's mouth tightened into a sharp line at those words and her body stiffened slightly.

"Mochof," Lexa thanked the guard and then dismissed him with a small flick of her wrist in the direction of the door. Lexa held the plate of food firmly in one hand and offered it to Clarke. "Eat, you need your strength." Lexa said with authority in her voice.

Clarke's attention was diverted away from the food by a shuffling noise coming from the back of the building. She turned her head and saw a medium-sized, stocky, bearded, and tattooed man coming towards her. He saw the tinges of fear and confusion on her features and with a calm voice he addressed her.

"I am _Nyko kom Trikru,_ the healer for the village of TonDC." Clarke nodded slowly at this and returned her attention back to the food with fierce desire in her eyes. "Eat slowly, Skaigada. It is better not to test your stomach." Clarke was hard-pressed to obey his command but she managed not to shovel all of the food in. She remembered the gentle handling of the man who had cared for her, and the time he spent feeding her slowly, and for his sake only, she followed the other healer's instructions.

When she had finished eating, and had drunk the water provided to her in a small leather flask, she laid back on the bed, letting her stomach expand and rest in comfort. Her eyes fluttered shut, but her relaxation was stolen from her by the next words that left the Commander's mouth.

"Will you answer my question now?" Clarke sighed in answer and the insides of her eyelids were painted with memories. She kept them closed but her mouth opened to let her story pour out.

"It was like I said earlier," she began, "the majority of the population was poor and when I was young, the rationing system for the allocation of food, water, and other resources prevented many of those people from obtaining what they needed to survive." The gulped and continued.

"Many of those people resorted to illegal means to get what they needed simply to survive, and because of that they were floated." Her voice was empty and hollow, completely emotionless.

"The council did nothing to solve these problems, so the people became very angry. The ringleaders decided that in order to force the council to action, severe measures had to be taken." She laughed bitterly at this point. "Apparently, their idea of taking action meant capturing the councilmen's children and holding them hostage until the council changed the rationing system."

Unseen to Clarke, both Nyko and Lexa's faced darkened at her admission. "Wells," she choked slightly on the name before swallowing tightly and continuing, "was the Chancellor's son and so he and I were taken first."

"The rioter's leaders were harsh and unkind, looking at us only as a means to and end instead of the six year old children we were." Her voice had become cold and emotionless once again. "The council refused to take action, thinking that they would be able to call the rioter's bluff, however, they failed."

"There was a video conference one day between the council and the rioter's leaders. We were brought in beaten and sickly from a week of capture. They argued for what seemed like hours until the leader brought a gun and held it to Wells head. The council did not know where we were being held, so there was nothing they could do to rescue us. I knew that we needed to get help and so I created a diversion, allowing for Wells to escape." Clarke swallowed loudly here and a small tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

"He ran fast and sure, but the leader with the gun could not allow him to escape. The only way to make sure he escaped was too block the bullet's path." Lexa closed her eyes and imagined a six-year-old Clarke bleeding out on the ground, life draining out of her. It was a painful image and she shook her head to rid herself of it.

"Wells alerted the council and brought them back to the room where we had been held. I was almost dead by that point, and the only way for me to have a chance at life was for the doctors' to attempt a genetic alteration to allow me a faster healing process." She opened her eyes once more and saw the shock and horror on their faces. She looked directly into Lexa's green eyes, which widened slightly at the contact.

"Does that answer your question?" She snarled with long-hidden pain still in her weary voice.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Clarke was restless lying in bed all day. It was dark inside of the healer's building, with the fire burning constantly, and Clarke desperately wanted to escape into the frigidity of the outside world. She knew her body was weak so with a hoarse voice she called out to the man bustling about in the back of the building.

"Excuse me?" She asked in the strongest voice she could manage. The man turned around and she saw his features soften slightly.

" _Sha_ _skaigada_?" The man replied and Clarke remembered his name falling from Lexa's lips earlier that day… Nyko.

"Nyko, I would like to go outside. Is that okay?" She looked at him and watched as his facial creases contorted with worry and barely concealed anxiety. He walked towards her, threading his fingers together in front of his body.

"Clarke, you are still very weak. I think it unwise for you to be walking around." Clarke's face dropped and she lowered her eyes to the furs on her bed, watching her fingers clench into them. Something must have shifted for Nyko walked forward and laid a hand lightly on Clarke's shoulder.

"Well," he pondered, and Clarke's blue eyes flickered up to his. "I am about to go herb collecting and I suppose you could accompany me." Clarke's face split into a wide smile and she practically started bouncing in bed. She watched as Nyko lifted an eyebrow and with a small reddening on her cheeks, she quieted.

"However, you will not walk. I will have a guard carry you." Clarke's mouth dropped open but Nyko held up a hand before she could comment. "Those are my conditions, take them or leave them." Clarke nodded agreeing before Nyko had even finished speaking. She was desperate to leave, and even forsaking her pride was worth a trip out into the world she had barely had the chance to enjoy since her fall to the ground.

Soon she was situated as comfortably as possible in the arms of a stoic faced guard. They followed Nyko into the forest and the sheer beauty of what surrounded her overwhelmed Clarke. The trees towered overhead with their vibrant orange, yellow, and red leaves. Clarke ached to trace her fingers over the twisted and crinkled brown bark of the trees.

The sky was grey and there was a chilling gale that swept through the forest, rattling the branches of the trees and whooshing through the scattered leaves on the forest floor. Several rain drops splattered onto her face, and soon they were caught in the middle of rainfall. Clarke laughed at the feeling of the cold droplets furrowing tracks through the dirt on her skin and sinking into her tangled cold tresses.

She soon lost track of how far they had traveled within in the forest, all of the winding trails looked the same and it seemed to Clarke that they were walking in circles. She didn't mind though, she was happy to be in such a place where she could appreciate all of the things that had been absent on the Ark.

She grew tired from their excursion and she was immensely thankful for Nyko's adamant refusal of her walking on her own. Their trip had been silent, and Clarke presumed that it was simply the culture of the Trikru. It was so unlike that of her own people's customs that she had been suspicious when it their journey had been silent for more than several minutes. However, she had come to like and appreciate the silence that cloaked her in a comforting blanket, allowing her to submerge herself in the sounds of the forest.

Slowly, the gently swaying of her body in the guard's arms lulled her into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Hurting Hearts

A familiar voice entered her dream and she smiled subconsciously, however, the smile fell when she heard the voice fill with worry, and then anger. It grew in tenor and in pitch, eventually jolting Clarke out of the peaceful slumber she had fallen into. "She is my prisoner, Nyko. You have no authority remove her from under the eyes of my guards, or myself for that matter."

Clarke could feel Nyko's shame and his fear at disobeying his _Heda_. Without opening her eyes she whispered out, "Please, it was my idea. Do not blame him when it was my fault." She heard Lexa catch her breath slightly and the following steps that approached her prone form lying still within the guard's arms.

"You are my prisoner, _Klark_ , do not speak of what you do not know." Clarke opened her eyes at this comment, feeling rage fill her. She gazed deeply into those green eyes, expressing her hatred and dismay.

"I am a person first, Commander. I will never be held against my will again by force, you might remember that the last who tried to do so ended up dead." She watched as Lexa's eyes widened fractionally and her mouth parted slightly, letting out a small pant of a breath escape her pouting lips. Clarke had whispered the last part of her comment, and she was glad she had, now that a crowd had gathered around them.

"Was that a threat, _Klark kom Skai_ ," Lexa said back in a cold, expressionless voice. Her voice was equally soft in pitch, but it was filled with an icy hardness.

"It is a fact." Those words seemed to hit Lexa like a punch to the gut, for she leaned away from Clarke, relaxing her stance.

"I apologize. I had momentarily forgotten about your past experiences." Clarke could not hear a difference in her voice, but her eyes were filled with shame and anger. Clarke moved her hand to reach out to Lexa, to let her know that she was forgiven, but before she could there was a commotion outside the gates.

Pounding hooves threw dust into the air, obscuring the riders and their horses. Guards hastened to put themselves in front of their Commander, drawing their weapons at the unexpected arrival. Clarke heard a sharp voice ring from dissipating dust spirals, "Stand down, I need to see the Commander." The dust finally settled and sitting on top of a large, brown horse was a fierce looking black woman. Clarke recognized her face, but could not remember her name.

"Indra," Lexa stated calmly, "Report." Clarke listened to Indra tell Lexa of attack by 'reapers,' and how one of her men had been badly injured in the attack, a man named Lincoln. Clarke didn't recognize the name, but when another horse approached Indra's, Clarke could see a slumped figure over the top of the horse's neck.

The rider dismounted and then pulled the slumped man down beside him. The man was covered in blood, and Clarke felt bile rise in her throat. He leaned heavily on the warrior beside him, but after several moments he had recovered enough to raise his head, and when he did, Clarke felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was the man who had cared for her, the one who had risked his life for her protection and health. She gazed into his eyes, as he stared into hers. Relief filled his features, and unknown to Clarke, a pair of green eyes hardened next to her. Suddenly the man, Lincoln, groaned and clutched his stomach. Blood was spilling out from in between his fingers, painting them a deeper shade of red.

He collapsed to the ground. The warrior beside him shouted and knelt beside his comrade, thrusting his fingers to Lincoln's neck in search of a pulse. Clarke watched with horror as the warrior pulled his fingers away with a shake of his head, speaking in the strange language towards both Indra and Lexa.

Clarke screamed and threw herself out of her guard's arms, hobbling as fast as she could towards Lincoln's prone body, which lay bleeding out on the ground. "NO!" She screamed loudly, her voice broken and hoarse. She knelt beside him, ignoring the pain that shot up her right leg. She checked again for a pulse, and finding none, she proceeded to rip off the thicker layers that lay heavy across his chest.

The splints on her arms interfered with her efforts and with a frustrated cry she tore them off. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs shaking her body, as she muttered over and over again, "Can't die, can't die, can't die." The rest of the entourage watched with pity, and Clarke felt a presence move to stand behind her. There was a comforting hand on her shoulder, but with a growl she shook it off, turning back to her work.

When she had removed some of his clothing, she began to pump his chest. She straddled his lap, and continued to pump up and down, every thirty pumps stopping to blow a large mouthful of air into his lungs. She did this for several minutes, the crowd staring at her with morbid fascination. She checked for a pulse once more and found none.

A primal scream ripped from her mouth and with all of her pent up anger she slammed both fists onto his chest, directly over his heart. Clarke felt the pain coursing up through her arms from the sudden contact, but she forgot about it when Lincoln gasped and moaned slightly, his eyes flickering open momentarily. She gasped in happiness, tears falling fast down her dirty face.

"You are not allowed to die," she growled at him, and she was satisfied with a meager nod in response to her command. She turned around to face the group and was surprised by the shocked expressions on their faces. "Nyko?" She called out questioningly. The man walked towards her slowly with awe, and glimmers of fear showing plainly on his normally stoic face.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion momentarily at this unexpected response from the grounders. Nyko moved to kneel beside her, thrusting his arms under Lincoln's limp body, and then lifting upwards. He carried him with care towards the medical building near the center of the town. Clarke watched them leave with anxiety growing in her heart. The hope she had felt rise up within her at the feeling of Lincoln's pulse beating weakly from underneath her fingertips had all but fled as she watched his body being carried away.

She looked down at her hands and saw they were covered in blood. It was still wet and the sight of it disgusted her. She tried to wipe it on her pants, but it was to no avail. Her hands remained stained red, crusting under her nails, and making her skin itch. Her pants were already stained, dirty, and ripped, and to Clarke, the addition of more dried blood did nothing except impress upon her the severity of her situation once more.

She was broken from her reverie by a harsh voice. "You brought him back from death, breathed life into him. How?" Clarke looked up into hard, green eyes. Lexa. She was fierce and unwavering, but her jaw was clenched tightly, the muscles in her neck coiled and bulging from tension. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and their seemed to be a glint of something that looked vaguely like jealously flitting within her eyes.

Clarke was confused but she answered the question. "All I had to do was to keep his heart beating for him, and keep oxygen flowing through his bloodstream. I was worried it wouldn't work with him, but I'm very grateful it did." She monitored Lexa's reaction to that statement and was surprised to see the already tense muscles become even stiffer. She watched slender fingers curling around the pommel of her sword, gripping it tightly.

"Why is his life so important to you, _Klark kom Skai?"_ Lexa asked with ice in her voice.

"He saved my life. Is it not right for me to repay that debt?" The grounders nodded to themselves, sharing looks with each other that Clarke could not quite understand.

"Sha, Klark, you have repaid your life debt. I am sure our healers would benefit from learning from you. Once you have healed, you will work with Nyko to learn our ways, and to contribute yours to ours."

Then Lexa turned towards the group gathered behind her, speaking in the language that Clarke could not understand. The grounders stared blatantly at her, some with curiosity, some with appreciation, and others with barely veiled hostility. When Lexa finished speaking, her voice was low and dangerous, and Clarke felt goose bumps rise up her back at the sound of it.

Lexa turned around and beckoned to Clarke, "Come," was all she said. Clarke rose to her feet and followed Lexa through the rapidly parting crowd. Clarke was limping heavily, but she tried her best to stay standing, gritting her teeth and pushing away the pain. While she healed quickly, two weeks was simply not enough time to heal all of her broken and torn bones, muscles, and ligaments.

Lexa never looked back and part of Clarke thanked her for it. She did not want Lexa to see her as weak, and Clarke knew that Lexa was giving her the chance to show her strength in front of her people. It was a test, and Clarke was determined not to fail. She hobbled after Lexa, barely containing the hissing sounds that were threatening to fall out of her mouth.

She began to count her steps, trying anything to distract herself from the pain that filled her weary body. One, two, three, fo- and with that she collapsed onto the ground in a heap, her right leg having given out from underneath her. Her head was spinning and she tasted blood in her mouth, apparently having bitten the healed cut on her lip once again. She tried to push herself up, but her arms crumpled, the bones not yet strong enough to support her weight.

She groaned into the dirt, letting her eyes close in shame and tiredness. She felt her body being lifted up, but she was in too much pain to protest. Her weary eyes fluttered open and she found herself gazing up at the stoic face of the Commander herself. Clarke smiled briefly, in awe of Lexa's innate beauty.

She let herself relax in Lexa's strong arms, reveling in their musculature and unwavering strength. Cradled against the Commander's chest allowed her to hear the gentle thumping of her heart under the layers of winter clothing that Lexa wore. It lulled her into a state of sem-consciousness, and the eventually, while the gentle rocking of Lexa's gate, pushed her towards the realm of the dream world.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When she woke she found herself gazing up at the top of an intricately decorated tent. It was made of cloth and animal skins, creating a thin yet impervious shield to the oncoming winter cold. Her body was resting on a bed of furs on an innately carved wooden bedframe. There were forest designs carved into the footboard, as there were also on the table and chair sitting on the opposite side of the tent.

She felt well rested but slightly ashamed of what had happened earlier. She had wanted to come across as strong and useful, which might be her only hope at survival with these people. She tensed as the flap of animal skin used as the door to the tent opened. In strode Lexa flanked by three young women. Two of them carried large buckets of steaming water, while the other carried a wooden box filled with an assortment of glass bottles.

Clarke watched with longing and fascination as the women poured the steaming water into a large metal bathtub that sat in a partially concealed corner of the room. Lexa watched as they began preparing the bath, but soon she turned to face Clarke. "You need to bathe," she said astutely. Clarke nodded, and she slid off of the bed, giving her legs several seconds to adjust to her weight before walking towards the large tub of steaming water.

The women, who Clarke assumed must be Lexa's handmaidens, appeared at her elbows and slowly ushered her over to a stool near the bath. There they carefully removed her jacket, boots, socks, and pants. When they reached to remove her shirt, Clarke blushed darkly, but said nothing. She was left in nothing except a bra, her tank top, and her underwear. She looked up and saw Lexa looking at her with something akin to longing and anger in her gaze.

Clarke was confused but could ponder the Commander's reaction no more, for the brunette as gritted her teeth and strode out of the tent, letting in a burst of chilly air into the previously warm tent. Clarke shivered and the handmaidens tutted, talking gently to each other in their language. She sat still as they removed her tank top and bra, but squirmed slightly as they slid her underwear down her legs. She was left sitting naked on the stool in front of three unknown women.

However, it appeared that her nakedness did not bother them, and Clarke was left with a very uncomfortable feeling that nakedness was not unusual or frowned upon in grounder culture. She stood up, swaying slightly, and with help, made her way towards the tub. She lifted herself inside, and let the warm water cover her dirt-stained body, washing off the dust, blood, and grime.

She closed her eyes and felt a pair of hands work their way into her tangled hair. Her body was rubbed down with different soaps and oils, while her hair was untangled, brushed, and washed. One of her hands ran down her leg and Clarke felt the hair that had grown there over the last two weeks. She felt slightly embarrassed; usually women on the Ark were very well groomed.

She turned towards one of the women and hesitantly asked if they had a small knife she could use. The woman looked at her curiously with a tinge of fear in her gaze. However, she handed over a small knife that had been previously tucked inside of her winter boots. Clarke thanked her before asking them for privacy. The handmaidens shared a look, however, they soon left, leaving Clarke to her own devices.

She lathered her legs and began a gentle scraping motion with the flat of the blade up her shin, and then her thigh. It had become a sort of meditation, a salvation inside of the ten minutes of lukewarm water she had been allotted every three days on the Ark. She finished her right leg, and moved onto the left.

She yelped lightly as the blade slid into the skin on her shin. "Oh, fuck," she said quietly, watching the red pool into the soapy water. Once the sharpness of the pain had left, she began the process again until the left leg was as smooth as the right. Her leg continued to bleed, but Clarke paid it no mind.

She lathered her underarms and used the knife there as well, all though she was considerably more careful in that vulnerable area. She looked down at the parting between her legs, and then moved her gaze to the knife. Shrugging, she decided that she had shaved everywhere else and shaving one more place couldn't hurt.

Once finished, Clarke felt infinitely cleaner, and much happier. She lifted herself out of the bath, noting that the bleeding on her shin had already begun to ebb, forming into a light scab. She pulled a light animal skin from the stool beside the bath, which she assumed was a towel meant for her. She dried off quickly, already missing the warmth of the bath, which was now filled with blood, dirt, and soapy bubbles.

She walked out from behind the small covering that protected the bathing area from the rest of the room, still wrapped in the small towel. There were clothes lying on the bed she had awoken on only an hour before. She quickly removed the towel and grabbed a pair of short-like underpants, which she quickly put on. There were a pair of leggings, both form fitting and fur lined. Clarke couldn't help but groan as she pulled them on, reveling in the feeling of the smooth fur sliding against her hairless legs. Next came a strange sort of wrapping, which Clarke couldn't help but think was probably a replacement for her bra.

She sighed as she twisted the fabric around her breasts, trying to compress them as much as possible with the limited mobility of her arms. When she had deemed her efforts a success, which occurred after a minute of struggling, she pulled on a light blue tunic-like shirt. Then came a thick fur coat. It was white and strangely beautiful in a mesmerizing way that made Clarke want to run her fingers through its softness for hours. She pulled it on, and felt warmth flood through her body.

She felt strength course through her veins, filling her with determination. As she opened the door, she turned around once more to face the room. She felt bad about leaving her dirty bath water for the handmaidens to clean up for her, but she couldn't find it within herself to truly hate the feeling of being waited on and considered special. As much as her peers had thought her privileged, her family tried to minimize their privilege as much as possible, making them closer to the average Arker family.

She turned away from the tent's inner room and walked outside, feeling the cold winter gales sweep past her, fluttering her damp blonde hair. The beauty of the outside world stunned her still, and she took in the darkening skies and the scent of rain. She closed her eyes and felt a smile tug at her lips.

She was unaware of another presence until a hand tapped on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she looked around for the suspect, finding the grizzled and wearied Nyko. "Lincoln's alive, would you like to see him?" Clarke felt joy blaze through her and she nodded, barely holding herself together. Nyko scooped Clarke up into his arms and walked the two of them towards the medical building.

When they entered Clarke saw that Lincoln was lying on one of the beds closer to the end of the room where the heat from the fire was strongest. She agreed with Nyko's placement, knowing that the heat would help to burn away the fever if it ever arose, which was likely if infection set in. She tapped Nyko lightly on the arm and he let her down gently; once released she hobbled as fast as she could towards him.

He lay barely awake on one of the beds, but his lips cracked into small smile at the sight of her. "Thank you," Clarke breathed as she hugged him tightly, pouring her gratitude and relief at his well being into the gesture. He patted her back awkwardly, and responded.

"It is I who should be thanking you, I hear." Clarke blushed, but nodded.

"I owed you a debt. I could not let you die, it was unacceptable." She could feel Lincoln nod slightly, but she did not raise her head from where it was buried into his chest, listening to his heart beating. Life, it was so fragile, so delicate. Just a single thing could tear it away.

She felt Lincoln's breath slow and his chest rose in slower increments. Gradually, she extracted herself from his bed and hobbled over to where Nyko stood in the back of the room. It smelled strongly of mixed herbs and Clarke felt peace.

Nyko had her grinding herbs in what looked like an old-fashioned mortar and pestle. Clarke had read about such medicinal tools in old books kept within the library. It was a laborious task, but Clarke thought it was wonderful. She only stopped grinding when the wooden door to the building swung open, revealing the Commander.

Something about Lexa confused Clarke. She was gentle and caring when she thought no one could see her, but she was also harsh. And, Clarke thought, adding another emotion from her observations from earlier that day, oddly jealous.


	7. Terrible Adventures

Clarke had finished grinding the herbs that Nyko had laid out for her that morning, leaving the rest of the afternoon for her personal enjoyment. She looked around the tent and saw Lincoln a few meters away lying on his bed. He was sleeping and looked peaceful. His face was resting and the sharp lines had faded, leaving him younger and more carefree.

She walked towards him and approached his bed. She smoothed his furs and checked his forehead for a temperature, there was none, and Clarke let out a sigh of relief. It had been two days since he had been brought to TonDC and thanks to Nyko's excellent skills, had been making a speedy recovery.

She smiled slightly and made her way to leave the healing building. It took her a minute to hobble across the dirt floor to the doorway, but she was proud of her progress. Every step was less painful then the last, and as long as she did not over-exert herself, Clarke could see herself making a full recovery in several weeks.

She swung the door open carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. A gust of cold air slapped across her face forcefully and brought blood pooling to her nose and cheeks. The air smelled of rain and pine and Clarke closed her eyes momentarily in bliss as the presence of Earth assailed her senses.

After several moments she noticed a presence standing beside her. She opened her eyes and saw Lexa standing in front of her, with the beginnings of a smile on her pink lips. The smile was vastly different from the harsh and distant way that Lexa had been treating her over the last two days. She had wondered briefly if she had offended her with her display with Lincoln, but something told her it was more than that.

If Lexa saw the questions in her eyes, she did not remark on them, choosing instead to face away from Clarke and look out towards the bustling town of TonDC, which was in the finalizing the preparations for winter. They stood in silence for several moments before Clarke turned around to face the Commander, her mouth opening to form words.

"I would like to visit the spot where I landed." She spoke quietly and her voice wavered slightly, as if she was slightly afraid of her request being denied. Lexa nodded her head slightly without facing Clarke, causing Clarke to let out a small sigh of relief.

"I will accompany you," were the words that flowed chivalrously from Lexa's mouth mere moments later. Clarke's jaw dropped, but she quickly came to her senses and closed her mouth, knowing that nothing she could say would change Lexa's mind.

"I appreciate it," was all Clarke said in response. She felt slightly anxious about this upcoming journey with Lexa, unsure of the relationship between the two of them. She had learned Lexa was obviously protective of her after her shockingly animalistic display over Clarke's healing of Lincoln, and her bath with the handmaidens, but for what reasons that protectiveness existed was beyond her cognition.

Once again Lexa nodded, "We leave now." Clarke acquiesced and without further warning was swept up in Lexa's arms. She glared viscously at the brunette girl holding her innocently in front of her.

"Put me down," she growled, but her anger was downplayed by the large yawn that spilt out of her, causing her to sound like a grumpy child. She saw Lexa's lips twist into a smirk before her face became stoic once more.

"Rest, _Klark_ , we will be at the stables soon." Clarke fought to keep her eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong and with another face-spitting yawn, she nodded off into the darkness.

She woke to her body comfortably pressed up against something firm and warm. There was a gentle swaying motion that was irregular, but not unpleasant. She felt the weak winter sunlight on her face and the warmth that seeped into her body caused her to moan slightly in happiness. It had been a long time since she had felt this secure and peaceful. She leaned back against the firm object, turning her head to nuzzle back into her pillow.

The pillow was warm and scratchy on her face and it smelled very familiar, like pine and wood smoke. Suddenly, the pillow moved and Clarke let out a whimper of disappointment at its loss. It seemed to Clarke that sleep was purposefully evading her, especially when she could now clearly feel something poking into her back.

She grumbled, trying to move away from the uncomfortable object, but only ended up finding herself completely immobilized. She opened her eyes and looked down, seeing black-clad arms circling around her waist and holding onto a set of leather ropes. She looked up and nearly jumped when she realized that she was on a horse. She had seen horses before, but never had she been allowed to ride one before.

She swiveled around to find the impassive, yet still vaguely amused, face of Lexa looking down at her. She groaned, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "How long have I been asleep?" She asked bashfully, dropping her gaze to avoid eye contact.

"One hour," was the response. Clarke sighed in acknowledgement, feeling slightly insecure about having the great Commander watching her sleep, especially in her own arms. Clarke continued to feel the pressure of the hard object against her backside, and with an irritated snort she grumbled at Lexa.

"There's something poking me in the back," she remarked dryly. She felt Lexa stiffen behind her and then relax.

"There is nothing that can be done about it now," was the reply. Clarke's eyebrows furrowed slightly, sensing that Lexa was holding something from her. There was a sense of humor to Lexa's words, and Clarke did appreciate Lexa's insensitivity to her predicament, especially because her bearings were already shaken from being on the back of a horse.

However, Clarke never had the time to question Lexa. There in front of them were the charred remains of the crashed drop ship. Clarke felt Lexa move from behind her, and soon she was looking at the imposing brunette standing on the ground in front of her. Clarke looked uncertainly at her, doubting the Commander's ability to catch her.

Lexa rolled her eyes slightly, "I will catch you, _Klark_ , do not fear." Clarke merely huffed in response, and then she felt herself sliding. She let out a squeak as she desperately tried to hold on, but her efforts were to no avail. She closed her eyes tight, but instead of hitting the hard ground, she fell into the cradle of Lexa's arms.

She opened her eyes to see Lexa looking at her with an eyebrow raised. Clarke narrowed her eyes at the smug girl in front of her. "Put me down," she ordered in her most authoritative voice.

"As you wish, _Prisa_ ," Lexa responded, letting Clarke's legs drop, but still holding her tight to her body. Clarke's cheeks reddened once again at their situation, and she attempted to move away fruitlessly. Lexa's iron grip kept her flush against the brunette's body. This time, Clarke felt something digging into her stomach, something hard.

She looked down and then looked up immediately, her mouth open and closing like a fish. She pushed herself away from the smug looking Commander and stormed towards her drop ship, seeking reprieve from what she had just discovered.

She gently moved one of the large pieces of metal out of the way, creating a space large enough for her to crawl through. It was slightly painful, but Clarke pushed those thoughts away, fully intent on retrieving her supplies from within. After wriggling for several moments, she found herself back within the center part of the pod, where she had sat on her descent. She placed herself in the hard plastic chair once more as she observed her surroundings.

She reached under the seat and drew out what looked like a backpack. Opening it, she could see the supplies her mother had provided her before he journey to the ground. There was a change of clothes, a shock baton, a map, her old sketchbook and charcoal, as well as some packaged food and water. While these objects were accepted and even rejoiced, Clarke could not help but feel as if something was still missing.

After several more surveys she spotted the glimmer of something blue and metallic, with a happy grin plastered on her face, she moved some rubble out of the way to find her solar-chargeable iPod lying virtually undamaged in front of her. The ear buds were still attached, as they had been when she had worn them on her journey down.

She picked it up, dusting it off lightly with her fingers and gentle puffs of breath. Sadly, the battery was dead due to the lack of pure sunlight within pod, but she had little doubt that within a day it would be in full functioning order. She quickly stuffed it within her backpack, and with a final glance around, she exited the pod. It took her a minute to maneuver both herself and the bag through the tangled rubber and metal that had collected on the upward facing side of the pod.

When she surface again, she found Lexa pacing back and forth in the small clearing, burned dry by her descent several weeks ago. When she caught sight of the brunette her cheeks flushed once again, and without consciously acknowledging her actions, her eyes flicked down to Lexa's pants. Everything seemed to be normal, but Clarke knew what she had felt, and suddenly Lexa's previous protectiveness made sense.

She had been jealous. She did not have any more time to reflect on Lexa's behavior before the girl in question stopped her pacing and approached Clarke as she exited the pod, rising to her feet with the backpack firmly held in her hand. The brunette's face was stoic as normal, but Clarke thought she could see hints of worry speckled within Lexa's bright green eyes.

"Did you find all that you needed, _Klark kom Skai_?" Lexa asked tightly, her eyes straying down to the backpack held in Clarke's hands. Unconsciously, Clarke gripped the handle to the backpack tighter and shifted it to hang slightly behind her legs, farther away from the prying eyes of the brunette in front of her. Clarke watched as Lexa's eyes narrowed slightly at her movements, but the older girl made no opposing move to counteract her.

Lexa simply turned away towards the horse, and after a moment of confusion, Clarke quickly followed her. She was confused by the strict and formal attitude of the girl who had just moments ago been, dare she say, flirting with her. Clarke felt dread begin to pool in her stomach, and she hoped that she had done nothing to offend the Commander, knowing that any tension could cut her stay with the grounders.

When Lexa stopped in front of the horse and stroked its head several times, Clarke stopped as well, not knowing quite what to do. She heard whispered words float in the air, said in the grounder language that were obviously meant for the great, black horse standing placidly in front of the brunette. Clarke stayed silent, waiting for Lexa to make the first move, to tell her what to do. Clarke was beginning to shift her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot when Lexa finally spoke.

She did not bother to turn her body to face Clarke, instead speaking sharply in English and letting her words drift back to the blonde girl behind her. "We ride back now. Come here and I will help you mount." Clarke moved forward tentatively and suddenly she felt her body swinging through the air until she her butt connected rather painfully with the leather saddle. Her hip and leg cringed at the contact and she let out a badly restrained whimper.

Seconds later she felt a warm presence behind her, pressing flush up against her back. Clarke leaned forward as much as possible, glad for the presence of the backpack in between the two of them. The ride back was full of stiff tension and silence, except for the cracking of sticks under the horse's hooves and the occasional animal or bird sound. Clarke gritted her teeth in anger, hurt at Lexa's harsh treatment and cold detachment. The brunette confused Clarke, her moods fluctuating without notice, giving Clarke a sense of emotional whiplash.

She was fed up with the brooding brunette, and in a flood of petulance she crossed her arms across her chest and huffed quietly. If Lexa heard, she did not comment, but Clarke noticed the older girl's grip on the reins had become tighter. When they arrived at camp there were shouts from the warriors at the gate, and soon the wooden door was swinging open to allow them entrance.

When the horse had stopped, Clarke found herself falling once more, the ground hurtling up to meet her. The attempted to brace herself for impact, but nevertheless, the contact with the winter-hardened ground did nothing except shoot bolts of pain through her weakened body.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself into a standing position, hunching over to allow her body the rest it desired after its fall. When she had regained her bearings, she turned to glare at the stoic Commander sitting regally on her horse. Spluttering indignantly at the brunette's treatment, Clarke felt angry words spill through her lips.

"Vous râlez! Sans toute compassion ou gentillesse! Pourquoi pouvez vous ne pas agir comme un normal, être humain de soin?" (You bitch! Without any compassion or gentleness! Why can't you act like a normal, caring human being?)

Hate lined her harsh words, and anger pooled within storming blue eyes. Without another glance, the blonde turned on her heel and limped rapidly towards the healing tent. She opened the door and then slammed it closed, ignoring both of the guards that had followed her there. She stomped angrily towards a bed near the back where she had taken up temporary residence. She threw the backpack down roughly on the bed, letting a single tear roll down her flushed cheeks.

She heard movement behind her and warily she turned to see Lincoln sitting up cautiously in bed with a questioning look on his face. The tears fell faster and sobs began to wrack through her frail chest. She sucked in a shaking breath before running over to Lincoln's bed and jumping on it, curling into his warm, firm chest, letting his heartbeat sooth her.

He pulled her closer, not flinching away when her tears spilled hotly onto the skin in the junction between his neck and shoulder. He adjusted the furs so that they covered her shaking body, and then wrapped both of his arms around her torso, letting her feel the comforting pressure and silent reassurance. She continued to sob, letting out her anger at Lexa, and the relieving her grief over the loss of her family and friends from the Ark.

Eventually her body lost consciousness in the hazy mess of tears and pain. She fell into a world of darkness and let it consume her, hoping to find solace in its wide expanse. Whispered words floated through her mind; apologies and pleas from Wells and her mother and loving comforts from her father. She wandered through the blackness of her dream world, searching desperately for something, anything that would lead her out.

She looked up when something dropped lightly onto her face, feeling like the drops of rain Clarke had discovered on Earth. Suddenly the blackness was replaced with blinding light and as Clarke looked around, she realized she was swimming in blood. Her hands were coated with it, and in terror she tried desperately to remove it, staining her clothes, and smudging it around her body, like painting on a human canvas.

Walking towards her was Lexa with a bloody knife in her hand, Clarke backed away with her hands raised in the air, unsure of what to expect from the brunette in front of her. The knife clattered to the ground, bathing itself in the scarlet bath, which held Clarke captive. " _Klark_ ," she heard Lexa say with a concerned expression on her face. Clarke's only reply was a pained howl. She felt pain rip through her abdomen, and looking down she saw fresh blood blossoming across her torso.

When she looked up again, her previous captors on the Ark approached, both of them wearing menacing, maniacal grins. Clarke whimpered and tried to stumble backwards, but only succeeded in falling back into the warm, sloshing blood at her feet. "No, please no!" she screamed, raising up a hand in a futile attempt to stop their approach.

Suddenly they both stopped, and Clarke closed her eyes before feeling something hot splatter across her face. When she opened her eyes again, both men were falling forward with matching red, slits across their throats. Behind them was Lexa, dressed in all black with her red sash, and war paint, which made her seem much older. The brunette rushed towards her, but Clarke scooted backwards, still confused and scared. Suddenly there was another shot that rang out, and Lexa toppled to the ground beside her. "NO!" she howled, which was immediately followed by a pained whimper, "Lexa, no." Lexa's body sank into the growing tide of blood, and with panic, Clarke felt her own body follow in descent. Her last feeling was the hot liquid pouring down her throat while she screamed silently, and then there was darkness again.

Her eyes shot open and feeling constricted, she struggled desperately for release, panic rising up from within her. She barely heard the cooing sounds of calming words, but as her body began to relax, she was able to understand. "Hush, Clarke, calm yourself. You're okay, it was only a night terror." There was a hand that ran through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes, and Clarke took gasping breaths to attempt to bring her body back to a state of tranquility. She realized the confinement she had felt was due to Lincoln's long arms wrapping around her body, holding her still in her thrashing.

She snuggled down into him, reveling in the warmth, and in the sound of his careful heartbeats, which came at a slow and steady pace. However, peace evaded her as she felt bile rise up from within her. She pushed weakly at Lincoln's arms and with obvious hesitation he let her go.

She stumbled out of the bed, and towards a bucket placed near Nyko's workplace. Grabbing it, she emptied the contents of her stomach into its depths. After kneeling on the floor for several minutes to allow her stomach to settle, she hauled herself to her feet and hobbled back to her own bed. She felt Lincoln's gaze rest on her as she moved, but she did not turn around. Searching frantically through her backpack, she finally found her iPod, which she had placed it in a small clear pocket on the top of her backpack in order for it to collect sunlight. With a delighted sigh she removed it from its confines.

Already attached were the ear buds, so all Clarke had to do was to push the play button and comforting music flooded into her ears, consuming her mind and forcing all other thoughts out. She returned to Lincoln's bed, pulling the furs up to her ears before burying back into his comforting heat. If he said anything, she did not hear, but the loud beating of the music soothed her weary mind, and finally sent her careening into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
